


Earl Grey

by myliege_theelvenking



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tom Hiddleston takes care of you when you're sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myliege_theelvenking/pseuds/myliege_theelvenking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you wake up feeling like crap, wouldn't it be nice to have one of the most charming, caring men on the planet taking care of you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earl Grey

I woke up slowly, my body feeling heavy even after a full night's rest. The morning light streamed in softly through the window but even still I blinked as I opened my eyes, blearily trying to focus on the world around me. The bed was empty, the sheets and blankets beside me rumpled from where he had lain beside me. A tickle arose in my throat and I coughed, expecting something small, but it quickly turned into a horrid hack that reached down into my chest as if hooking fingers in my windpipe and jerking upwards with each thrust of my abdomen. At the sound, Tom, my beloved Tom, came around the corner, his face appearing concerned as he peered around the doorway. He'd been working out, maybe running on the treadmill or playing table tennis. He did so love his table tennis. The short curls in his hair were wet and clinging to his brow.

"Bless you, it sounded like you might have lost a lung. Are you okay?" I shook my head silently, groaning as the cough subsided and my wracked body sagged back to the mattress, now laying mostly on my back with an arm draped across my aching middle. It felt as though someone had instructed an elephant to sit on my chest and my breath wheezed softly. Tom started to step into the room, then turned away without warning. I didn't lift my head to see where he went, closing my eyes instead and focusing on breathing without irritating the tickle in my chest and throat. There was a bottle of water on the nightstand beside me but it felt too far away, requiring me to move my body far more than I was currently willing to in my status of feeling as if I'd been hit by a truck.

Tom soon reappeared, a small green tub in his hands. He was unscrewing the lid as he approached and even in my crappy mindset, I couldn't stop staring at those long legs of his. Long, strong, and beautifully sculpted, just like every lean inch of him. He was no body-builder, but that was perfect because I didn't want him to be. He wasn't hard as rock, but well-structured, giving him a steady foundation and a suppleness that wasn't found in those muscle-bound men. The smell of the mentholatum reached my nose and a smile spread across my face. Unfortunately, I also started coughing again and Tom sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand worriedly on my arm as I waited for the hacking to release me.

"Lie back," he said softly, those blue-green eyes of his liquid pools of kindness. How did he manage to always look so genuinely concerned? Not just for me, but for his fans, too, of which group I used to belong to. Well, that's not entirely accurate I suppose. I'm still a big fan of his; I just don't have to fantasize and obsess over him anymore. I did as he bid me, smiling lovingly up at him as he coated his first two fingers in the sticky salve. He used his pinky to pry down the neckline of the old ratty tshirt I wore to bed, a remnant of my college years. Soothingly those long fingers began to rub small circles into my chest and I sighed in contentment, letting my eyes drift back closed.

After a moment, the fingers stopped, but it took me a moment to realize. When I opened my eyes again, he was lifting himself onto the bed to straddle my hips. There was the dance of mischief in his eyes, barely visible amongst the concern that still lay more prominently within them. He leaned over me to apply more of the mentholatum to my chest, applying slightly more pressure until it became like a massage. A very...sensual....massage. My eyes were closed again and I focused on the sensations, trying to ignore the tug at my navel. Insatiable man.

I felt him leaning closer, the light scruff on his face just a hair's breadth away. I opened my eyes and put a hand between our lips, covering my diseased mouth. The moment ended like a record being suddenly stopped, his lips crashing against my fingers and confusion in his eyes. "I can't get you sick," I said quietly, in a gently pleading tone. He had rehearsals coming up soon for another show and I couldn't forgive myself if I got him sick. Of course, sleeping together in the same bed, there was a good chance he already carried whatever sickness was taking root in my body, but the least I could do was avoid further contamination. My kiss was toxic.

He pulled away and laughed softly, that adorable, warm laugh of his that stretched his mouth wide, showing all of his teeth at once. In some of his films I likened him to a shark, all sharp teeth and the glint of danger in his eyes. That usually led to him nipping me just in the right place, showing me how those shark teeth could truly be dangerous. Just when I thought he was deterred now, he suddenly leaned back down and all but attacked the hollow of my throat, nibbling gently on slightly clammy flesh where my neck met my shoulders. It was hard to keep from moaning and giving in to his advances, but I was adamant that I wouldn't get him sick. And it just wouldn't be as much fun if I could barely move for fear of coughing or out of sheer exhaustion. I finally raised my shoulder, pushing away his face and shivering at the scratch of his beard along my neck.

He laughed again and got up from the bed, turning towards the door. He stopped to lean against the doorframe, his cheek smooshing slightly as he pressed it against the wood. "Want some tea? I can brew up a couple mugs of Earl Grey," he offered. Ah, the Earl Grey. As luck would have it, it was the favorite tea of both of us, though he took his a little differently than I did.

I gave him a silently pleading look, not wanting to outright ask him after he'd already been so kind to me already, but the steam from the tea would do much to loosen the mucus tickling at my chest. He smiled and I smiled back at him adoringly. "Milk and sugar?" he asked.

My returning look was slightly sheepish. "Actually, do we have any of that Caramel Macchiato creamer?" I asked, knowing what his response would be.

Predictably, his nose crinkled in mock disgust. "You bloody Americans know just how to ruin a good cup of tea."

"But you love me for it," I said in my most sickeningly sweet tone.

He sighed softly, shaking his head and letting loose a soft huff of laughter. "Yes I do, my adorably frustrating Yank." He walked back over to the bed to place a kiss on my forehead, which felt like it was growing hotter by the moment. I beamed up at him. "I love you," I murmured softly. He didn't return the words outright, but I knew by the fond way he looked back at me before leaving the room and heading for the kitchen that he returned my sentiment. It was probably the best thing about this relationship. We didn't need to voice our thoughts and feelings. We could show each other, with our expressions, with our deeds, with our bodies. It was in the books I left on the coffee table for him to come home to after a long day of rehearsals, and in the way he'd rubbed mentholatum on my chest just now. It was sappy, it was romantic, and it was idealistic, but it was real. How had my life turned into such a dream?

I lay in bed for a few moments as he started the water boiling for our tea. Then I knew I needed to get up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of discarded jeans from last night. Normally I might have worn sweats when I felt this crappy, but these jeans were well-worn and superbly comfortable, plus I didn't have to walk to the dresser to get them. I quickly realized I was weak from exhaustion and coughing and I had to steady myself as I started for the bathroom, a coughing fit interrupting me as I went. I managed to make it without falling or otherwise injuring myself, using the toilet (everytime I tried to call it the loo or the head, I ended up laughing so hard I nearly fell over) and then washing my face and brushing my teeth. The mouthwash burned a little more than usual and for a terrifying moment I felt like I was suffocating, unable to breathe through my nose with as congested as it was, forcing me to spit out the mouthwash before my full swishing cycle was done. Well, better a slightly less clean mouth than dying because I was too stupid to spit.

I washed my hands and dried them on one of the plush towels. I'd insisted on a green and gold motif in this bathroom, a tribute to Loki I'll admit, but also a very earthy color scheme. Grass and sunshine, with a few splashes of dark brown like the trunks of trees rather than the stark black that truly represented Loki. He'd given me such an amusing look when I'd finished decorating the bathroom and then innocently sipped his tea when I questioned him about it and then gently hit his shoulder. Not enough to bruise, mind. Well, maybe just a small bruise. Nothing that couldn't be fixed up with a little make up.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I was still feeling pretty exhausted, though at least my face was clean. The water had helped to cool the fever that was breaking out, but I couldn't imagine it would stay vanquished for long. I didn't even make it to the bar in the kitchen, instead sinking into the sofa and reaching for the Snuggie slung over the back. I was freezing and I was tired and I was still coughing miserably. I groaned as I fell back into the cushions after a rousing coughing fit, not even having the energy to rub my chest to free some of the soreness. The mentholatum tingled warmly and the smell seemed to be opening up my nostrils, but it still wasn't enough to completely stop the wheezing of my breath.

A few minutes passed before Tom found me in the living room, two cups of tea clutched in his hand. He'd made mine in my Thranduil mug, which he teased me mercilessly about. What can I say, though? Once a fangirl, always a fangirl. I had more reason than most to put those days behind me, but Tom didn't begrudge me my obsessions. He thought my zest for stories was refreshing. I expected as much from a fellow bibliophile.

"Heavens, you look like absolute crap," he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean that in a bad way. But you just look like you've been put through the ringer."

I titled my head miserably up at him. "I feel like it, too," I croaked out. He placed the mugs on the coffee table in front of us and then tucked the snuggie around my legs and feet, which, par for the course, were cold as ice. He hissed a little at the temperature and just tucked it in that much tighter. God I love him. He picked the mugs back up and pressed one warm cup into my hands before settling himself beside me. With the way my legs were arranged on the couch, it meant that he was sitting on the furthestmost cushion from me, which didn't work for either of us. He leaned forward and put his mug back on the table and then gently lifted my feet, scooting himself to the middle cushion and placing my legs in his lap before retrieving his tea.

I smiled at him and took a sip of my tea, perfectly sweetened without being so overbearing that I couldn't get the notes of bergamot that made Earl Grey my favorite. He watched me with an amused smile. "Perfectly disgusting?" he asked with an impish tone. I laughed and playfully swatted him, which of course made me cough and made those frown lines appear on his forehead. I waved him off, indicating I was fine, then took another sip of delightfully warm tea. "Yes. Perfectly disgusting, as you say." He smiled and took a drink of his own tea. He set the mug in his lap and rubbed my calves over the thick covering of the Snuggie. It was soothing nonetheless and my head sunk just a little deeper into the pillow.

"Hey sweetie?" I asked softly after a moment. I didn't want to make him get up after he'd just settled onto the couch and was being so gentle with me. But the silence was a little deafening and perhaps if I got some noise into my ears I might be able to drag myself out of this plagued stupor. He turned towards me. "Mm?" he hummed in response, his eyebrows lifting slightly in question.

"Could we put on a movie?" I said in a small voice, like a sick child. I was younger than Tom, quite a bit so, and much shorter as well, but at least he had a baby face as well rather than looking his thirty three years. The beard made him look a little older though, but he was still young enough of course. "Yeah, sure. Which one would you like?" I smiled guiltily, which was my universal expression when I wanted to watch one of his films. He was so humble about his work, which meant that he didn't often watch it unless he was analyzing and planning for a new film. Not that he needed to do any analyzing. It seemed to be etched into his memory and he could spout off lines from The Deep Blue Sea or The Avengers just as easily as any of his Coriolanus monologues. It was a horribly endearing quality of his.

"Which one?" he asked again, wearing his most patient expression. "The Hollow Crown?" I requested. I was a medieval history buff and thoroughly enjoyed watching Tom's performance in the four part series. Plus, c'mon, Jeremy Irons. SCAR. How could you pass that up?

Tom chuckled and titled his head back. He took another sip of his tea and patted my leg before lifting them and moving them aside so he could put on the DVD. And hey, maybe I enjoyed watching the way his ass filled out his jogging pants as he bent over to grab the case from the shelf and then squatted down to put it in the DVD player. I stared over the lip of my tea mug, not realizing he'd turned his head and was watching me, too, that amused smile on his face. "Enjoying the view?" he said finally, in that perfectly lilting accent of his. I felt my face grow even hotter, but maybe the flush of fever would hide it.

"Yes," I muttered into my tea and he laughed. He grabbed the remote and waited for the DVD to start up. "Would you like to start at the beginning or...?" he asked.

"The beginning," I said quickly. While I was certainly eager to see my beau on screen, it didn't feel right skipping over two and a half hours of moving, unbelievably talented actors just for the sake of seeing Tom. After all, I had his face right beside me, so if ogling was what I wanted, it was so easy to do. He started the movie and then put the remote back on the table before sliding back into his spot beside me. "You have the coldest feet, you know?" he said and I smiled back. "I'm sorry," I apologized, just as he would have done. I was teasing him a little and he knew it, laughing with his eyes as his smile spread that much wider. He turned his attention back to the screen as I did as well and we began to watch the first installment of the Hollow Crown. It was a long series and would take me all day to finish it, but I was off of work and he didn't have anything to do until the early afternoon when he was meeting someone for a late lunch. I didn't ask what it was for and he didn't offer, because it didn't matter. It wasn't out of dishonesty.

It wasn't long before Tom was leaning closer to me and slipping an arm around me to hold me close, placing gentle kisses on my temple that made my eyes flutter closed. I'd just woken up and yet I was already falling back asleep, completely missing the movie I'd asked to watch. But I was happy and content, even despite being sick. So I let myself go to sleep and wouldn't you know that the dreams couldn't compare to the life I was living.


End file.
